I'm sitting in the airport waiting for a plane to show up and take me home. It's the end of the day and officially dear-god-I-want-a-cup-of-tea o'clock.
Still, it's chill enough. Terminal's not crowded. My day went quick. Lots of meetings. Traffic wasn't too bad.
On the flight out this morning, I sat next to two ladies who did nothing but stare at the seat-backs in front of them. If Simon Pegg wants to make a Shaun of the Dead sequel that takes place on an airplane (note: I do not endorse this idea) then I've got some cast members for him. It was bizarre. Me, I buckled my safety belt, popped in my headphones, queued up a list of Nerdist podcast episodes I've been meaning to binge on, and started cranking on a sock. I was nearly to the heel turn by the time we touched down. Now, I get that I have a harder time sitting still than many folks, but not even a book, ladies? You don't want to play stupid games on your phone? Take a nap? Do a crossword puzzle? Nothing? They each had huge purses shoved into the foot space in front of them, which got me to wonder what the hell they were keeping in there that they couldn't also squeeze in a paperback. (Mr. Pegg, if you do proceed with the movie idea, call me. I came up with some plausible possibilities. We could call it "Shaun of the Dead 2: The Overdead Bin." Caution, items may have shifted during the flight...)
Plane trips are boring, unless you're flying the damn thing I suppose. We hope for them to be boring. Who doesn't plan around that? What do folks like this do when they get home? Stare at the walls? Stare at the ceiling? (Eat the neighbors' brains?)
I don't know. Maybe just because I've had ample opportunity to get my system down doesn't give me the right to judge my (possibly undead) neighbors. Fair enough.
(Ooh ooh! Shaun of the Dead 2: The Return Flight. This airport is terminal... And just think about the trailer, with improperly zipped up body bags coming down the shoot to the baggage carousel, leaving behind a big smear of--
Oh, okay, fine. I'll stop.)